


Gigantic

by kkscatnip (autohaptic)



Series: Bonds That Tie [1]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Denial of Feelings, Featuring a Seriously Underage Jason, M/M, POV Second Person, Soul Bond, Titled by iTunes, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-12
Updated: 2013-09-12
Packaged: 2017-12-26 08:32:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/963829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/autohaptic/pseuds/kkscatnip
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Gigantic, gigantic, gigantic</i><br/>A big, big love</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gigantic

**Author's Note:**

> Soul bonding is a thing that happens in this world. It creates complications.

To say that you don't understand precisely what happens with that brief moment of skin-on-skin touch would be a lie. It would simply be obfuscating, throwing a smoke bomb so you might escape the feeling of the bond forming, like something in your mind is locking into a niche you had heretofore considered irrelevant.

And lying would be completely unnecessary, even impossible. When you look into the boy's, into Jason's, eyes in the breathless moments after, it is clear he felt the bond cementing as well.

A piece sliding into place in your mind. A protective cocoon wrapping tightly about him. A connection formed, for better or worse and in spite of consequences such may incur. 

Jason's face isn't like Dick's, a wealth of microexpressions flashing constantly over the surface, or suppressed imperfectly enough as to be noticeable. The only visible reaction is in Jason's eyes, his mouth still pressed into the same thin, angry line, and his shoulders still tense with that same ire. 

" _And_?" he asks, sneer lacing his tone. 

And, he means, now that you'd already agreed to send him to Child and Family Services but have discovered this ineffable bond, what is your plan? 

You don't know. You would prefer to do what would make him the most comfortable, but as the answer to that is _release Jason back onto the streets_ , you've already thoroughly rejected that option. It's untenable, but then a thirty year-old man bonding with a twelve year-old boy isn't precisely the most viable situation either. 

"You'll have your own room here at the manor," you say to him, your hand resting on his elbow, cupping it for a moment. You've read extensively about bonds, but never realized that one might feel so... thorough. It borders on overwhelming, even for you. 

Forcing yourself to untie him is not the difficult part. The difficult part is forcing yourself not to continue those lingering touches. "We'll begin assessing your grade level tomorrow, and implement any necessary tutoring programs to place you back in school."

"No," Jason says, his tone and expression no different, though now he rubs life into his hands, his arms.

Your fingers twitch with the desire to help. 

Jason fixes you with a look that is precisely like being shot with an arrow. "No." And you let him take advantage of your cape to pull you down to his height, and do not devour him the moment that he presses his lips against yours. 

You do not wrap your arms around him; you do not touch him; you close your eyes and do not let him see fully your desire, though he can no doubt sense it, just as you sense his. You barely return the kiss, and when he pulls away, fingers slowly uncurling from around the bit of cape he fisted, his eyes have become angry as well. 

"Your funeral," Jason says, and that smile of his is like razor wire. Intellectually, you've seen worse, but never from someone who occupies a part of your mind. Never from someone whose frustration feels like uncomfortable pinpricks on the backs of your arms and calves, whose heartbeat you can feel doubling with your own just under your tongue, at the base of your throat. 

Jason turns and walks toward the stairs, grabbing a communicator off of the desk around the console and turning it around in his hands as he walks. Inspecting briefly and then distracting, directing your attention to his eyes as he looks over his shoulder. "You coming?" He smoulders at you.

You ignore it along with the answering heat beneath your skin and don't hurry to catch up. But he wants to be caught, and when you reach him at the foot of the stairs the communicator is gone and Jason doesn't appear guilty. Or innocent. No different than before; stealing is how he has survived. You'll have to correct that. 

"C’mon, Daddy. Come tuck me into bed and give me a goodnight kiss. It’s _way_ past my bedtime."

You follow in his wake feeling, not for the last time, helpless.


End file.
